She knew she’d messed up, knew she’d broken his trust. But there had been a part of her that had thought he’d care enough about her to get over it. That he’d care enough to try to understand. Instead, his kneejerk reaction had been to think she was a whore. And though he’d apologized, she’d known at that moment that it was too late, known that he would always wonder, would always doubt her.
She’d fucked up, badly. So why would he—why should he—forgive her? God knew her own father never would.
“So how long are you actually going to be mad at me?” Caleb demanded after the silence between them dragged on too long.
The question jolted her, brought her back to the present. It was a rough landing since nearly everything that mattered to her was back in Austin.
“All things considered, a while longer, I think.”
“Okay. That’s fair. I deserve it.”
“You totally deserve it. You should have backed me about Drew.” This time when he held out one of the cups of coffee, she took it.
“You’re right, I should have. And I’m sorry I didn’t.”
She sighed as the last of her anger melted away. “It’s okay. It wouldn’t have changed anything if you had—you would have just ended up getting fired too, and this label needs someone around here who knows what they’re doing. Plus, Shaken Dirty gets Drew, so…it’s worth it.”
“Is it really? The music matters to you that much?”
“Of course it does.” Suddenly she became super absorbed in making sure everything in her box was packed tightly so it wouldn’t move in transit. “Why are you asking?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I was talking to the guys from Shaken Dirty this morning, and they were asking about you.”
“Were they?” She fought to keep her voice casual.
“They were. Wyatt, especially, seemed to want to know what you were up to. And if you were doing okay after ‘everything that happened.’” He used his fingers to put air quotes around the last few words.
“I hope you told him I was fine.” She rearranged her picture frames in the box for the third time.
“I did. But maybe I shouldn’t have.”
“What do you mean?” Her eyes shot to his.
“I mean you look like hell. You’re not sleeping, you’re not eating, and I’m pretty sure you were wearing that exact same outfit when I came to your apartment two days ago.”
“It was a different T-shirt.”
“Nope, pretty sure it wasn’t.” He walked over to her, put an arm around her shoulder, and pulled her into his side. “Want to talk about it?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“Okay. Fair enough. Want to get drunk?”
“It’s nine thirty in the morning.”
He shrugged. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
“Yeah, well, I just got back from babysitting an addict. The idea of drinking myself into oblivion doesn’t really appeal to me.”
“Good point. You know, you did a good job with that whole babysitting thing. I mean, even if you hadn’t figured out Drew was a perfect match for them.”
She glared at him. “Are you making fun of me?”
“No, I mean it. Wyatt’s been out of rehab for two weeks and he’s still sober. He looked like hell on the teleconference, but he’s not using. I figure part of that, at the least, is because of you.”
Her laugh was bitter. “More like in spite of me.”
“What does that mean?”